


Another Failed Attempt

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Egging, Humiliation, Murder attempt, Stock - Freeform, Tickle torture, Water Escapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: In another desperate attempt to eliminate his one obstacle to becoming a very, very rich man, Gustav the Furfrou pokemorph once again attempts an elaborate plan to kill his employer's daughter.A commission for someone on Furaffinity!





	Another Failed Attempt

If Gustav had to deal with one more of Madison’s questions about the theater’s old prop section while he was trying to retrieve the paperwork from the safe in front of him. When he had volunteered to fetch the papers from the closed down theater, it had not been with the assumption that his boss’s child would beg to go along, but the young woman was insatiable with her questions even now, poking through the props still littered across the building following the business closing. So far he had had to explain a fake-sawing table, a deck of life sized cards used for an illusion trick, and this time, the Popplio was digging around with a large wooden tool that flapped open whenever she lifted the top part of it. 

“And this?” She asked, turning her wide eyes to the Furfrou butler, lifting the top of it again to let it clatter down with a heavy sound of wood hitting wood, and the metal fastenings on it jingling. 

“That is a pillory, miss,” the answered with some exhaustion, losing his place in entering the combo on the safe once more. 

“What’s it do?” She continued, no shortage of questions ringing from her clearly still. He’d just started the combination again, only for it to be lost once more, and he had to bite back a quick sound of annoyance as he looked up to her curious expression. Oh, what he wouldn’t give just to… 

It was like someone flicked on a switch in his brain. While his plans involving Madison were usually more along the lines of murderous, he couldn’t pass up the option for a little bit of innocuous revenge against her, knowing that if nothing else, humiliating her a little would be satisfying in a way he wasn’t allowed to experience often. “Why don’t I give you a show of exactly how it’s used?” He questioned, turning a faux smile the Popplio’s way. She blinked her wide eyes at him, tilting her head—completely innocent of the malice running through the back of his mind for her. No, instead, delight gradually lifted to her expression, and excitement thrummed through her. 

“That sounds like fun!” She exclaimed, quickly moving to open it as she waited for him to show her how it was done. With a rising malice, satisfied finally in her innocent ignorance, he moved to position her head down into the correct holes, fastening her wrists in the pillory next to where her head had been positioned. Stepping back, he admired her helplessness. The pillory had managed to fit her perfectly, not letting her limbs slip out, but not being so tight that it would pinch at her. Madison, clearly not noticing his twisted delight in her being stick, only wriggled her limbs a little with some curiosity over how it was supposed to go. Part of her found that she didn’t mind the position that might, even if being bent over for the pillory might have felt a little awkward, she couldn’t help but feel that it might be almost nice.

“Was this it?” She asked, tilting her head a little so she could still look up at him. Surprised at her compliance, he paused, and crossed his arms. 

“If you truly want to experience how it’s supposed to be used, then allow me to go grab additional supplies, miss,” he requested, and she gave a testing wriggle in the bindings, giving as much of a nod as she could manage while her head felt vaguely prone. Taking it as a permission, he moved out of the theater to just down the road to where a small produce market remained open, though was used a little less often given how run down that part of town was. It didn’t take much for him to find a small bag of rotten produce, and a carton of out of date eggs. He didn’t want any evidence of an actual purchase being made on his card or on that of his boss’s, her mother, and he didn’t want to spend money on it the first place, so the refuse behind the store offered everything he needed. By the time he had returned, she was a little more squirmy from how her body was starting to ache a little, and she looked over to him, expecting that maybe he would free her. It didn’t come to fruition, though, given he laid out a towel from the other props, knowing things were about to get messy.

“What’re you doing, Gustav?” She asked, her tone uncertain as she watched his careful preparations.

“You wanted the real experience, miss, so I’ve made sure to prepare everything involved just as it would have been when these were used originally,” he informed, and she seemed to accept this without much protest, unable to see what he was holding onto just yet. Slowly he held up the first egg, and she couldn’t help but notice the somewhat off way it seemed to be soft on one side. Without warning, he turned a crank that slowly started to turn the pillory on the circle it was built upon, giving her a slowly spinning view of the room as Gustav pulled back, and let the first egg fly. It collided with her shoulder, making Madison give a small squeak as the scent of rotten egg filled the room, staining her shirt as he continued to reach into the bag of rancid produce, the soft tomatoes splattering her as he started to chuck them, one by one. Many came close to her face, one egg even smashing on her cheek, and so Madison had no choice but to allow it to continue, lest one carefully aimed rotten food product hit her mouth. While she didn’t hate the sensation of being pelted with food, the strange sensation of humiliation tickling low in her stomach in a way that she hadn’t expected she might enjoy, she definitely didn’t want a mouth full of rotten tomato or egg. 

Gustav, however, was enjoying himself immensely. He’d always harbored that dislike of his boss’s daughter, given that if it weren’t for her, he would be inheriting everything of her mother’s wealth. His repeated failures in attempts on her life were proof enough at that, even though something always seemed to happen to make them go wrong, and the fact that he could vindictively pelt her with egg after egg was the cathartic release from his pent up frustrations that he’d needed for years now. “This is what it was used for, Miss Madison,” he called out as he pulled back to let another tomato explode against her shoulder, spattering across her back and leaving her to squirm helplessly as the pillory continued to spin. “It’s quite the authentic experience.” For once, her silence was the only reply, instead of another question that would undoubtedly grind on his patience and make him wish he didn’t have to wait on her every command hand and foot. With that thought in mind, he aimed another tomato at her face, watching her flinch only for it to miss by a few inches, instead splattering her cheek with it on impact with the wood next to her head. 

It was only when she was dripping with stinking yolk and red pulp alike did another device in the corner, one that caught his attention immediately. He’d remembered seeing it used in a show as a child, but with the same sort of warning that came that only professional magicians dared attempt it. It had been said that the theater had closed down due to a few safety hazards, and though it could have been a rumor, he seemed to remembered that one of them involving a similar device had even lead to someone’s death. 

Given Madison’s nearly famous curiosity, it struck an idea in mind, and he brought the pillory to a slow stop. “Would you like to see how another one of these old devices works? There’s several around here, and I think there’s on in particular you might enjoy,” he offered, approaching her while being rather careful to not breathe through his nose. The scent of rotten eggs and tomatoes clung to her heavily now, and it was obvious that her shirt had taken the brunt of most of the humiliating exhibition. Far more than her face or lower half, it had been hit several times by the off-spray of the top and bottom of the stocks, and she was practically dripping with food refuse when he undid the latches on the wood, letting her stand and stretch her back out from being imprisoned. She found herself interested immediately, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because of the strange lingering sensation that wasn’t bad from the experience, but wasn’t describable, either. 

“What other device?” She asked, turning to face him as she shook some of the excess, dripping tomato pulp from her sleeves as he moved towards the corner, and began to wheel out what he’d recognized as a water escapism device. It was a tall, narrow glass box that he knew loosely of the devices of. 

“It’s a test of skill,” he explained, not entirely lying but not being entirely truthful either. “There should be a collection of show clothing in the changing room of the back stage, Miss Madison,” he added in afterthought, looking it over. There was still running water to the building, and if he remembered right, there would be a water hose in the alleyway between this building and the next. “Go find one of the straitjackets back there, and I’ll show you how the trick is done.”

Hearing that there was a trick involved only excited her more, and she found herself a little eager to get out of the stinking garment that still adorned her frame. There was practically a skip to Madison’s step as she hurried away from where he was setting up the display, going and finding one of the binding jackets in the dressing room that served where the show performers would get ready before their grand displays. In the meantime, the Furfrou morph moved to the back alleyway, pulling in the hose and preparing the escapology device. His plan began to hatch slowly as he watched the water level rise in all four panels of the clear box, while he checked the restraints of the topmost part. 

If he could simply leave her within the device, he could pass it off as she had tried it while he wasn’t paying attention, and had died a tragic death of drowning—thus passing her entire inheritance and her older mother’s estate on to him when the woman died. While there had been many mistakes in his attempts on Madison’s life before, this one had him feeling confidence that it couldn’t fail. By the time Madison returned from the changing room, she had removed her shirt and replaced it with a straitjacket, but he could already tell that it was going to be big on her. It was designed for fully grown, heftier Pokemorphs, not the small, slight frame of the Popplio girl. None the less, he did his best to secure it, fastening the straps across her chest until her limbs were pinned successfully against her sides, leaving her just as unable to wriggle as he’d anticipated for the initial part of his plan. 

“The device is really just so we can clean you up from experimenting with the other device,” he explained, purposefully leaving the fact that it was usually a trick only performed by the more experienced magicians that had performed at the theater. While she squirmed in the straitjacket, he slowly lifted the chains connected to the ceiling that moved the heavy top of the closed trap-door like device off of the top of the escapology device. Seeing the top of it, Madison was reminded of the stocks that she’d been held in not long ago, and he had her sit so he could carefully fasten her ankles into the holes there, watching as she wriggled her feet a little, finding it a bit of a better fit than the straitjacket was around the rest of her body. Using the same hoisting system, he lifted her upwards, leaving her hanging upside down as he maneuvered her over the glass box, lowering her down into the water so that she was fully submerged, with a small bit of overflow running down the clear glass on the outside of the box. Once she was in, he hit the lock mechanism that sealed the top part of the device in place, and stepped back with some satisfaction. 

He intended on watching her drown, and then he’d report that she was fooling around with the device while he wasn’t there to stop her. 

Minutes came and passed, but she simply shifted comfortably in the water, exploring the limits of the box while not moving much. It took a while for it to click for the Furfrou why—as a Popplio, it was almost guaranteed that she would be able to hold her breath for an incredible amount of time, and he remembered with some dread that she’d held her breath for nearly half an hour once in the swimming pool on her mother’s property. They would be expected back within an hour, and he wouldn’t have nearly the time needed to cover up the murder if it took her that long to drown. Hastily, he paced the room, disappearing into the costume room to return with a feather duster, and grabbing a small step ladder to climb up the side of the box, he began to tickle her exposed feet. The effect was immediate; though she could hold her breath for an extended amount of time, there was little she could do when the tickling started to make her slender form shake in the water, doing her best to subdue her own laughter as his attack on the bottom of her feet considered. Practically writhing, her giggling sent a rapid series of bubbles flooding up from her mouth, but it was that same wiggling that gradually started to loosen her straitjacket, the knots and folds of it coming undone simply because she was too small to fit it properly. 

Her laughter was nearly coming in full force now, larger bubbles rising to the pocket of air barely established at the top of the device, though her movement finally freed her from the last knots of the straitjacket. Between her ankles, she could feel a small lever, and now that she was free of the straitjacket she was able to wriggle her way upwards, forcing herself to move despite the way the laughter leaving her made her want to convulse and stay in one spot. The lever was pulled, and it opened the ankle-device inwards like flaps, freeing her as Gustav stumbled back in surprise, nearly falling off of the ladder but quickly putting distance between them so it wouldn’t be so obvious that he was trying to hurt her. With the tickling ceased and now with the room to move, Madison shifted to duck out up to the top of the box, laughing as she began to lift herself over the edge. It was clear that she had no idea that Gustav had been intending for her to meet a water demise with the tickling, thinking that he had been simply making sure she enjoyed her venture into the box. 

“I did it, Gustav!” She announced proudly, clearly pleased with herself for escaping the confines of the boss. 

It was hard for Gustav to hide the annoyance that lifted to his features, but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to his attempts on her life failing. If nothing else, it just proved that once again, she had an uncanny good luck when it came to his repeated attempts on her life, and he exhaled slowly as she climbed out of the tank of water, doing his best to hide his disappointment in his failure once more. All that mattered now would be trying to hide what had happened from the young woman’s mother, though she was already shivering a little in the chill of the room now that her clothing was completely soaked through. 

That was what lead to the awkward, unfortunate series of events that happened to come right afterwards. Considering Madison knew that Gustav would do very well anything he asked her to, and her shirt was practically ruined by the tomatoes and eggs he’d thrown at her, there wasn’t anything to change into following her dive into the water—at least, nothing that was dry. With a sweet smile, as if she actually had to convince him, as if he wouldn’t automatically give in because doing anything less would anger her mother, he sighed and handed over his sweater. 

Unfortunately, this meant on the walk back, they were passing plenty of people who were getting a look at both of them—despite her dip in the water, the Popplio still had small shreds of sticky old egg yolk and tomato stuck in her hair, and some dried to her legs as well. Gustav was far more distracting though, and the middle aged Furfrou couldn’t help but feel his cheeks burning with humiliation as he fumed his way down the sidewalk. He had been forced, given his lack of shirt, to put on the soggy, still-dripping straitjacket. Unfortunately, Madison had been so enamored with his unknown attempt to drown her that she had insisted that he wear it strapped up as well; he had no clue why she’d wanted to secure the straps, but he certainly painted an interesting picture wandering down the street looking like a madman fresh from the asylum. 

One day, he told himself, his attempts would not fail. That would be the day he would be named her Primarina mother’s heir, and he’d never have to worry about dealing with Madison’s whims again.


End file.
